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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298676">do you ever get the feeling that god has a plan? and you're the only one who can stop it?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N'>Princex_N</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marble Hornets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Attempted Murder, Delusions, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Pre-Canon, Repetition, Stream of Consciousness, Suicide Attempt, deliberately hard to separate from what the operator might be doing, disorganized thinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:09:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>you are broken you cannot be fixed you cannot be fixed you cannot be fixed there is no help for people like you</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>do you ever get the feeling that god has a plan? and you're the only one who can stop it?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <a href="http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=827">title from a softer world</a>
</p><p>idk what this is; i was thinking about my mental/physical health and then my brain said 'aren't you tired of being the good sick person don't you just want to go Batshit' and then spilled this out from between my teeth, but i do hope it doesn't accidentally come across as like 'evil crazy person kills people' :/ but i did choose to write about Alex, so</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex doesn't know what that thing wants, but he knows it's nothing good. </p><p>It's incomprehensible, and he thinks it's supposed to be. It's not the place of a human to understand the forces of nature and what pushes them along, incomprehensible and knowing and inevitable. It does not speak to him, Alex is certain of this, but he dreams and he knows, but those are different and the distinction is Important. It does not speak to him and Alex does not want it to. </p><p>Alex doesn't know what it wants, or <em>if</em> it wants, but he knows that there is nothing good about it. There is nothing benevolent, or positive, or even neutral about it, Alex knows. A faceless god that does not know or care for kindness or mercy, the devil's right hand, but is he sure it is even evil? Dose it care for the sense of black and white morality that Alex's mind struggles to place it in? Or is it only It, through and through and held to its own understandings and comprehension. It has plans, ideas, Alex knows, but does it <em>want</em>? He isn't sure. </p><p>He doesn't think he's the first. He does not think that it is new, sprung into existence for Alex alone, no. It has <em>been</em>. If not for all time, then for a <em>long</em> time, and Alex knows that there is very little he can do in the face of it. </p><p>(He knows that it knows this too. That's why it roams in and out of his vision without care, why it creeps as close as it pleases, the cold static of its presence close enough to brush fingers against his skin, push cold breath against the nape of his neck if only it could breathe. Alex does not scare it, he knows, and the thought fills him with nothing but dread because the lack of fear tells a story its mouthless face cannot. It does not need to fear him because, in all its experience with people like him, none have ever posed a threat against it. Either no one has found its weakness and it has grown cocky, or the confidence is earned through the reality that it <em>has </em>no weaknesses to exploit. Alex knows which theory he believes to be true, and the casual creep of its footsteps through his house only supports his hypothesis.) </p><p>It does more than watch, he knows, but he can't put his finger on <em>what</em> it could be doing exactly. He knows its watches, he knows, he can feel it. It has no eyes but that doesn't mean that Alex can't feel them on his skin anyway. It's always watching him now, even when the camera doesn't catch it, Alex <em>knows</em>. There is nothing he can do, he knows. The feeling persists no matter what he does, no amount of locked doors or closed blinds or drawn curtains or brightened lights can do anything to keep it away. </p><p>Alex learned defenselessness first and hopelessness second. He still tries to escape, to hide, to run, but the attempts feel halfhearted, faltering in the already knowing that there is no point, and one night as he creeps despondent through the dark halls of his house he realizes that he can feel Satisfaction somewhere outside of himself and spends an hour with his nails digging bright red irritation into the skin of his neck as he gags uselessly into the toilet because if it is teaching him then <em>what else is he learning?</em></p><p>It does more than watch, he knows. It does not speak to him but Alex knows that it is watching and it is thinking and perhaps it does not <em>want</em> but Alex cannot figure out what it could possibly want from him. He doesn't want to give it anything, doesn't want to provide satisfaction or entertainment or the pleasure of a task well done, a trainer with a dog successful in learning, Alex does not want its approval in any way shape or form he does <em>not</em> but there is a growing nausea in him that tells the story of a lack of choice and the terror is all-encompassing; if it is teaching him then what else is he learning and how can he possibly know? How can he know? How can he <em>know?</em></p><p>He does not. He cannot. </p><p>There is no way to stop it, he knows. He knows, he dreams of the ones who came before him and failed, and he would know even without the prophetic history whispered static into his sleep because there is no stopping a force of nature, Alex knows. There is nothing to do, nothing to be done, he knows he knows and he is so <em>tired</em> but there is only one way out, he knows, but does he? </p><p>Death does not feel like an ending of this story, does not feel like it could take him somewhere it cannot follow. He presses the knife against his throat and it does not stop him, exuding a bland disinterest, because death cannot stop it, cannot save him from it. He is chosen, already consumed, already perched in the back of its throat and staring down into the dark abyss of its esophagus and his death would only entrench him further because it is already limitless <em>here</em> but in death? There is no telling what it is capable of. Alex doesn't know where humans go when the die but he <em>knows</em>, he knows that he is not destined to go there any longer. He is claimed, he knows, and it would not relinquish that hold in death, only reassert it. </p><p>Alex does not know which would satisfy it most, does not know which option would bring it the most satisfaction, does not know which would cut it with the disappointment of an interrupted game. All he knows is which option scares <em>him</em> the most. </p><p>Better the devil you know, isn't that what people say? The knife clatters ineffectually against the kitchen counter and the thing does not flinch and Alex feels himself recoil instead. If not even death is salvation then what is there left for him? It is inescapable, it is all-encompassing, it is it is it is and what is Alex in comparison? Not enough. </p><p>Where does one go from here? </p><p>Worshipful is the last thing Alex is. There is no devotion dedication faith in this thing, nothing positive he feels towards it, Alex would tear it apart with his nails and his teeth if only it would allow him to get close enough, Alex is not the supplicant in its presence but the frenetic pace of charcoal in his hands feels like prayer all the same. Paper bought in packs of hundreds and pissed through in a matter of hours, as if they are spells of protection to keep it away from him or perhaps just a desperate warning to anyone who might roam too close, please please please it's watching it's watching it sees me it wants and i don't know what i cannot run please please please god <em>help me</em>. </p><p>Black smeared on his fingertips and coal dust in his lungs, he tapes the pages up in thick wallpaper sections along his walls and floors and furniture and windows perhaps if he just makes it substantial enough it will form a barrier its eyes cannot see through. Perhaps perhaps perhaps, the static sound of the scratch of the sticks against the paper rings in his ears and he coughs up grey phlegm into his bathroom sink and perhaps one day it will be enough to protect him. </p><p>(Defenselessness first and hopelessness second, Alex already knows that he is beyond saving.) </p><p>He thinks it might be killing him and he half wishes it would. Feels the holy fire heat of his own blood cutting streaks across his skin as it pours out of his nose and his mouth, spilling meat out from behind his teeth as he coughs and retches into the corners of his home. Can feel the rasp of damage in his lungs and his throat and his sinuses and he wishes that it would kill him faster. He couldn't do it himself but if something else, even if it had to be that thing, took the choice from his hands and cut him down where he stood he think he would be nothing but grateful. </p><p>It takes him too long to realize that he is not alone and the terror is nothing in comparison to the guilt he should have noticed should have noticed should have <em>noticed</em> but he did not, did nothing, and the damage has spread beyond just him, no longer so easily dismissed no longer acceptable no longer permissible. Its poison reaches out in thick black tendrils like mold and rot in an old house and Alex sits at the center and he should have killed himself sooner to make sure he contained it he should have known better that this is precisely what it wanted he had been chosen for a reason and this spread is exactly what it had wanted with Alex as its chosen emissary and Alex cannot permit it he Cannot.</p><p>Maybe this thing is god, perhaps this <em>is</em> the natural progression of things and Alex a prophet here to herald in the end, but that is Not Good Enough and if Alex was chosen then that is <em>not good enough</em> and if Alex was chosen then there is nothing said that keeps him from using this against it, nothing. Perhaps it should have chosen better if it had wanted a willing participant, a devout follower, a compliant pawn. </p><p>It is unperturbed by Alex's conclusion, unconcerned by his resolve, unbothered by his subversion of his role and Alex can't decide if it's a trick or not. Is this what it wants? How many layers to this manipulation exist only to entangle him further and trap him as its puppet, he doesn't know. But he knows the spread, can see it reaching out of his shadow to wrap its fingers around the people he loves and Alex can stop it he can stop he it can stop it he can stop it, he has to. </p><p>Patient Zero containing the plague and perhaps it is unconcerned because Alex is not the only one, because it can simply find another, but Alex can't care about the faceless whole of humanity now. There is him, and there are five others who are already infected, already showing symptoms and Alex does not want this for them. Does not want its mold in their lungs and its gaze on their skin and its fingers in their brains and its claim on their souls and if he can get to them quick enough can he save them from its brand? Ensure that when they die they die human, and not whatever marred corruption Alex has become? Can't he? Can he?</p><p>If he thinks about it too hard it will take too long, spiral down the doubts of his intentions or success or the integrity of his mind (is he sure that this is still him? That he is still himself? That it hasn't been whispering instructions in the quiet of his house that he hadn't realized he was hearing? Is he sure? Is he sure? Is he sure? How deep do its strings go?) and it will take too long and it will proceed while Alex was frozen by indecision because it will not wait and Alex cannot hesitate to save them. </p><p>(It is saving them, isn't it? It is, it has to be. Their lives are already damned, the stain of Alex's presence already entrenched in their skin, it is too late to save their lives but surely surely he can save their deaths, ensure that none of them wind up in its hands, as its toys, as its entertainment, surely?) </p><p>So he does not. It's easy, too easy, to separate them and Alex does it because he has to, weeping apologies that do not ever touch his lips because he cannot let himself have even that, he knows. His hands around their throats, rocks and pipes against their skulls, his fists against their eyes, and it is ease he never wanted to know and there is no time to convince them of the choice and the burden he's absolving them of they die not knowing. </p><p>Alex learned defenselessness first and hopelessness second, but he still hopes that one of them will win instead, just once, it would only take once, and Alex aches for it even despite the clatter of his knife against his kitchen counter and please just once can't he lose the fight? Allow one of them to turn around and fight back and <em>win</em>, put him out of his misery put him down like a lame horse like a blasphemer like a sick dog like a pagan in the house of god please let one of them win and turn their hands against him in the urge to survive, let one of them shoulder this burden and understand his choice and undertake the same crusade <em>please</em>. </p><p>But they never do. Alex wins every time, and it is relief on the back of his tongue that they are protected from the burden of this role and the bitter weight of disappointment in his lungs that Alex has not been granted the opportunity of rest, and then there is only him left and his knife back against his throat, blood dripping down into his eyes and at the first press of the blade he feels it <em>leave</em>. </p><p>Bewilderment halts his hand, its gaze is not on him, its static no longer pressing in around his skull, its shadow no longer cast long inside his house, it is gone, Alex knows but does not understand. The scar of its brand on his insides remains but the weight of it behind his lungs is gone, disappointed, and Alex does not understand. Did he succeed? Was his choice correct and his ploy successful? Is it gone because it knows that he has played his role through? </p><p>But did he play it successfully or poorly? Alex does not know, and the chilled emptiness of its absence offers no answers and Alex feels nausea burning a hole in his chest; did he foil its goals or merely play into its hands is he rejected or rewarded Alex does not know and there is no word for this terror. If he sleeps will his dreams tell him? Would they heed his plea for answers? Respond to damn or absolve him? Alex does not know. </p><p>Or would he dream without the static divination and see only Sarah's terror-wide eyes, the split gore of Seth's skull, the limp sprawl of Tim's body, the dazed absence in Brian's eyes, the bloodied bruise of Jay's face?</p><p>If he dies not where will he go?</p><p>There's new terror rising in his throat, up through his sinuses and pouring down over his mouth and chin. Did he succeed or fail? Are they saved or damned? If Alex lifts the knife again and tears through his arteries and lets himself drown will it find him and will it praise him or punish him? Even gone, Alex knows that he is not destined to go where other humans go when they die any longer, he knows, and the terror in the uncertainty of how it will react once he delivers himself to it is suffocating. </p><p>The knife clatters ineffectually against the kitchen counter, fear making his hands numb and shake so terribly that he cannot bend his fingers around its handle again. Will it punish or praise him he does not want to know and he is disgusting damned despicable. He had always planned to follow the others to ensure that this disease was contained but is the source of the mold treated or consumed and the terror is too much and Alex always was a coward, wasn't that the problem? Wouldn't a braver person have tried to find a way to win instead of just a way to limit the causalities? Wouldn't they?</p><p>His hands shake so terribly that he can't bend his fingers around the handle of the knife again, and his mind scatters into pieces searching for an alternate option it's not too late but the fear is suffocating enough that Alex deliriously wonders if it will be enough to kill him on its own if he dies will it praise him or punish him which would be worse which would be the greater torture he doesn't <em>know</em> he doesn't know and there is nothing and no one left to help him sort through the broken glass of his own thoughts there is <em>nothing</em>. </p><p>He leaves the knife where it fell, lets terror and poison blood drip over his teeth and off of his chin and knows that the uncertainty of the answer is already preferable to knowing the answer and besides, isn't it better to monitor? If there are others then isn't it up to Alex to stop it? The justifications are weak, he knows, the excuses are not enough, he knows, the torture will be torture either way and Alex is nothing if not deserving of it, he knows, because if he succeeded in his subversion then he would take the pain of its punishment with the bold streak of defiance and pride in knowing that he had saved them, but if he <em>failed</em> and only played into its hands then he cannot deal with the choking cloying consuming guilt of damning them all himself. </p><p>It's delaying the inevitable, he knows, even with the burden of its presence gone Alex knows that he is anything but free he knows. There will come a time when he is <em>going</em> to die and there is going to be damnation and it is inevitable he knows, but if he can live a little longer pretending in the knowledge that he is certain that he has saved them can't it be enough enough just for a little while longer? </p><p>(It's not enough.)</p><p>(But where else does one go from here?)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i think this is kinda incomprehensible but it's sort of supposed to be. the way things are meant to have played out here is that alex is sort of being played? it takes the bodies to keep alex from realizing that he has not successfully killed anyone, and the others are separated from alex to let their Bad Vibes fester, until jay finds and uploads the tapes and triggers the chaos of canon events. alex is only left alone at the end so that the realization is slower and hits harder when the first tapes get uploaded</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B_h9X5sgF9v/">there's art for this now!</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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